Some things are best left be

 

Sarah scrounged, seeking to find aluminium cans on the street. She could have some money if she found enough. Sometimes, people only ate some of their takeaway food, and Sarah got to eat. If she wasn't too fussy, she could deal with the stomach aches if it were too stale. Alcohol costs money, which is what collected aluminium cans were suitable for. She went down to the water's edge, where teenagers had parties. Sometimes, she would find a tin of beer half-drunk.

 

There was a noisy gang there. She had trouble with them before and avoided them when she could. Screamed her head off if she couldn't get away from them and hoped a cop would be close enough to help her. She skirted away, hoping they wouldn't notice her being too close. She had to be careful, so she wouldn't get caught. They left old Scraggy a scar on his face because he was too close.

 

Hunger was a pain she was used to. She brought the cans she had to the scrapyard. She needed what that greedy, nefarious old merchant Scag would give her for them. As she made her way to where she might exchange them, she walked past a TV shop. On the TV, there was a news program about some auctions. Someone was selling dresses, and people were bidding on them. Dizzying figures were rolling across the screen as people bid for various dresses. Five thousand, ten thousand.

 

The TV presenter then started to talk about the star lot. She didn't hear anything that was being said. There were subtitles she could read. She looked and saw it was her red dress being sold. She recognised it immediately. It was definitely hers. Not only that, but she hadn't seen it for forty years, ever since that bitch Erica stole it. Memories flooded her mind: her first time wearing the dress and how jealous all the other women were. Daniel hugging and then kissing her, then sad memories of Daniel getting shot dead.

 

The figures on the screen started to rise, starting at fifty thousand, then went to one hundred, then one hundred and fifty. Then, it jumped to two hundred and fifty thousand. The presenter wiped the sweat off her brow with a tissue. She was saying something about how the dress was one of a kind. The stitches were extraordinarily unusual and had never seen anything like it before. Sarah knew it was unique because she had made it herself and dyed it with beetroot to the shade she wanted it to be.

 

She was looking at the figures again. They had risen to five hundred and fifty thousand. Sarah's stomach rumbled, she was hungry, and she knew she had to eat. The presenter watched as the auctioneer said, "Going once, going twice, going three times, sold", as he tapped his hammer down. Sarah knew she needed advice as fast as possible. The following day, she went to her case officer and told her what she needed.

 

Two days later, Sarah was at the auction house. She tried to walk in but was repulsed by the aghast receptionist who was wiping her hands with a wet wipe after touching the homeless woman.

 

Sarah was shouting that she wanted her dress. There was a man in the background laughing at her. The receptionist was on the phone looking directly at Sarah. She went on shouting for some more time until the police were called and moved her along. She was sitting on a bench when a young woman approached. "Hi, my name is Emily. I work for a dealer in the auction house. I couldn't help but hear you at the gallery saying that the dress was yours. Which dress were you talking about?"

 

"Yes, it's mine, and I want it back, that bitch Erica stole it from me. I want it now, you hear?"

Emily could see this woman had bathed in a long time. There were sores on her chin and beside her nose.

Emily said, "Come with me, and we'll get you something to eat."

When they walked into the restaurant. A bald head waiter was instantly by their side, "Miss Emily, I'm sorry, but there are no tables here today", despite the scattered empty tables in sight.

 

Emily pierced him with a look and pulled out her phone. She dialled a number which obviously was on speed dial. Then said, "Hello, Mr. Fritz, I found that woman you asked me to find. She's hungry and needs to eat. I've brought her to your usual restaurant as you requested me to, but they won't serve us. Can you speak to the head waiter and see if he can manage a table, please?"

 

The pompous head waiter didn't look so arrogant now; he was sweating, and his bald head shone like a mirror. Emily handed the phone to the head waiter. He gulped, "Hello, Mr. Fritz." He tried speaking, but obviously, Mr. Fritz had a lot to say in a few choice words. "Yes, yes, Mr. Fritz, it will be just as you say".

The waiter turned to Emily and, with a smile that only a crocodile could achieve, brought Sarah and Emily to a table close to the kitchen door.

 

Sarah was offered a menu but refused. She asked Emily to order for her. After an hour of eating and drinking, Emily got down to business.

"You said it was your dress. Can you verify this with documents or witnesses?"

Her family was descended from people who were wiped out in the 1800s. The skills she has were passed down from generation to generation. Emily showed interest in the parts about the dress but feigned interest in the details about this woman, Erica. Or how sad Sarah's life was now. Sarah was a skilled stitch mechanic, and the dress was made from a single thread. She was the last of a line of stitch mechanics who could weave with knots made on her fingers. Emily couldn't make any sense of what Sarah was saying but recognised that both the dress and Sarah were unique. She called the head waiter and asked for some thread. Then, asked Sarah to show her the knot. Sarah started weaving and talking. The knot was eight-sided. It required four fingers of each hand to be wrapped with thread, and the thumbs were folding the knots as they became available.

 

Emily's eyes ogled as the finished weave started to appear. This was very new or ancient and forgotten.

Four weeks later, Sarah was unrecognisable; her facial sores were almost gone, and the smell she had was gone, replaced with perfume. Mr. Fritz was generous to his new dressmaker. She was on TV shows showing people how to create the knot, but no one could recreate it. People gushed over her and the twinkle in her eyes. One presenter mentioned that the price of the dress had increased ten times what it was valued at since the auction.

 

She finally met Mr. Fritz one day. He was happy to see her. Sarah didn't like the look he was giving her. "So this is the woman who made the dress. Well done, woman, I have to thank you for increasing the dress's value." Sarah turned to find Emily had disappeared. Mr. Fritz didn't look as friendly now. He looked positively demonic. She was terrified.

"Did you know that living artists never see the true value of their work?"

She realised what was happening and made a run for the door.

Four weeks later, the dress was sold again after bids starting at eight million.

 

~Boris Doyle 

 

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